Who am I without chemotherapy?

I can count on my hands the number of days it will be until I begin my last week of chemotherapy. I am overjoyed. And excited. And ready to be done. And I am completely terrified.

It feels like my life is in a major upheaval at work and with health. (Fortunately, my personal life is fantastic.)

… Did you just read what I wrote? I am freaking out about my JOB. WTF? I sound like old school Liz. The Liz that was a workaholic overachiever. The Liz who worked a regular job, volunteered with a few groups, did design work on the side, and did design work pro-bono. The Liz who didn't have time for her best friend and never went anywhere.

That was pre-knowledge of cancer Liz. Cancer Liz learned that jobs and money are helpful, but you really can live without them. (And I know this for a fact. I am alive, right?)

The new Liz is way cooler. (The current Liz is more tired than any version of Liz, but this will pass as the chemo leaves my system over the next year. Shoot, within the next few months I'll be like, "Dang, I have so much energy! Where'd this come from?" The future Liz also switches between first person and third person easily.)

Needless to say, the end of chemotherapy brings much soul searching and an identity crisis.